


Who Moves First

by BadWolf256



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:48:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25926142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadWolf256/pseuds/BadWolf256
Summary: A ball is attended, a warning is made, and a doppelgänger chooses differently, for once.
Relationships: Elena Gilbert/Elijah Mikaelson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 96





	Who Moves First

“We need to talk,” Says Elena.

She isn’t quite sure why she says it, what’s propelled her to seek out Elijah and pull him aside before the start of the dancing, but she thinks she should call it suspicion. Nothing good ever comes out of meeting witches in back rooms, and though Esther may have claimed otherwise, Elena knows better than anyone else what a mother’s love is and is not. She thinks that he look surprised, when she says it - at least, as surprised as Elijah can get, which honestly isn’t much. It’s the slightest quirk of his lips, she’s discovered. The faint raise eyebrows he gives before his features settle, and then he is nodding at her.

“Do I need to keep your guardians preoccupied?” Asks Elijah, and she finds herself shaking her head.

“I’ve got it covered,” She tells him. She’s been watching the doorways diligently, and they haven’t even arrived yet. She has plenty of time to meet with Esther and finally learn what she _really_ thinks about Klaus.

“I don’t trust her,” Elena blurts out, not meaning to say it so bluntly. She’s met, again, with surprise.

“How do you mean?” Elijah inquires, “And - to whom are you referring?”

“Your mother,” Elena says, biting her lip on a whim. “I don’t trust your mother, Elijah. She wants to meet with me alone, and I just - I don’t think it’s going to end well. I wanted to warn you,” She says. Huffs out a breath when she’s finished and drags her gaze from his. But Elijah is moving; he tilts her chin up with one long, elegant finger.

“You wanted to warn me,” Elijah says, “After everything I’ve done to you?”

“It’s the right thing to do,” Says Elena. And she wonders if he will believe her, or if he knows the real reason why. But there is something more to it. Loathe as she is to admit it, she _likes_ being close to Elijah. Likes having someone that she can trust who will let her make her own choices, because underneath everything else about them - all the lying and all the betrayal - he’s always let them be hers. Elena steals a glance towards the doors of the mansion, sees two familiar forms enter.

“So,” She says, “About my guardians…”

“I’ll keep them distracted,” He tells her, “While you learn my mother’s intentions. First, however-” Elijah clears his throat, looking, for one moment, sheepish. Elena blinks. She’s never known Elijah to succumb to something like _nerves,_ but by the time that she looks back, the awkwardness of it has vanished, and he is holding a hand out to her. Smoothly. Expectantly, she thinks. “Lovely Elena,” Elijah asks, “Would you do me the honor of giving me your first dance?”

 _Of course,_ thinks Elena, _A ball._ She doesn’t know what to tell him; she doesn’t owe him her dances. She doesn’t owe him anything. But Elena has already gotten this far, surrendered this much of her to him. She is going to tell Elijah things that Stefan and Damon will never know about her, and thinks that by this point she has; in the way that she lives, and the way that she loves, and the way that she talks when she’s lonely, as if nobody else were there.

“You scare me, Elijah,” She tells him, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Then let me make it up to you.”

“Elijah,” She says, “I appreciate it, the offer. But I don’t think that you can.”

“Nevertheless,” Elijah says smoothly, “I want you to feel safe with me.”

“How can I?” She asks him. Pulls away before he can answer, unable to look at his face. “Just - do me a favor and keep them away?”

Elijah snorts. It’s the kind of low snort that Damon likes giving when he knows that he’s already lost, and Elena thinks about what it _means,_ that Elijah is giving it now. It fills her with something that she’s never felt in her life, and the rush of it nearly knocks her off her feet. She finds herself stumbling backwards. Worry creases his brows as she raises a hand to stop him from coming much closer. She thinks that she knows what Esther is planning, and knowing it, makes up her mind.

“Give me ten minutes,” Elena says. “I can’t promise you the first dance, but if you can give me ten minutes alone, then I promise I’ll give you the second.”

Elijah nods, and everything she knows changes. A slow smile spreads across her face as she turns to duck through the crowd, weaving her way up the staircase. She looks behind her only once; catches his gaze over the balcony rail as he approaches Stefan and Damon. She nods at Elijah, and Elijah nods back. _I’m going to do this,_ she thinks to herself, _Because it’s the right thing to do._ Damon would kill her for doing this, she thinks. Stefan would be appalled. But there is no time to think about them, and so Elena does not. She gathers her courage and knocks at Esther’s door, smells the cloy of burnt sage. And thinks to herself, as Esther tells her to come in, that the worst thing she could do to him would be to break her own promise.

*

“So,” He asks.

“I was right.”

She didn’t go to warn Elijah. Not the way she’d thought she would. With her eyes and palms burning, she’d burst out the back doors, steeling herself on a cry. She’d soon enough heard them open behind her, felt the firm, gentle pressure of Elijah’s hand on her shoulder. It makes her more frightened then she’s ever been, how quickly she knew it was him. She thinks it’s how he is so still, and so calm. Offering her everything that he can give.

“What did she say?” Asks Elijah.

“I can’t,” Says Elena, “I - Elijah, I’m sorry, I _can’t-_ ”

“Tell me,” He says, in _that_ tone of voice. A shiver of terror rips through her. Reminding her, wordlessly, that Elijah is still Elijah, the deadly Original who could easily have snapped her neck in that farmhouse, torn her heart out of her chest. Tears sting at her vision; Elena lets them fall.

“I couldn’t stop it,” She tells him, “ _Elijah,_ ” She says, “I’m too late.”

A soft hum escapes from his lips, and, unbidden, sparks something warm in her chest. The hand on her shoulder tightens over her skin; the other wraps around her waist, settling itself low on her.

“Why don’t you tell me,” Elijah says, “And I’ll be the judge of that. Come now, Elena - We’re going to miss the champagne.”

“The champagne?” She asks him, whirling suddenly. “You mean - you haven’t had any yet?”

“No,” Says Elijah, cocking his head to the side.

“Oh,” She says, “Oh my _God,_ Elijah, I thought -”

“From the beginning,” Elijah says, and the sharp ache of being apart from his body worms it way up her sides. The way Elijah Mikaelson holds her; she thinks she could stay here forever. Hers, she thinks, if not his. And the manner in which he is looking at her, his tense body poised to receive, makes her think that he might let her, if only she thought to ask him.

“She wants to link you,” Elena says, “She needed my blood, to put into the champagne. She wanted to make all of you human and then,” She tells him, “Then kill you.”

“I see,” He tells her, “And you aided her in this endeavor?”

“ _No,_ ” Says Elena, shaking her head vehemently. “I told her that I wouldn’t do it. She took my blood anyways.” Elena’s voice has fallen deep, and a sob’s choked its way up her throat. She hates how weak she must look. How foolish she must seem to him - her, Elena, not able to stop herself crying from what was just a quick pinprick. But she should know better than that. The fury that enters Elijah has nothing to do with her, and everything to do with Esther. She notices that, when his fingers clench and relax, and he holds that same hand out to her.

“Elena,” He says, “It’s alright. Thank you for telling me.”

“You can’t go back in,” She says. “The - the others have -”

“Than I shall stay here,” He tells her. “In case you haven’t forgotten, you promised me your second dance.”

A laugh tears through her body, and she finds herself throwing her head back, the sheer relief of it pulsing through her bloodstream.

“I haven’t even had my first yet,” She tells him. _“Fuck,_ ” She says, “I was _busy._ ”

The laughing is like alcohol. She gets the same buzz from it. Elijah stares as if she intimidates him, and that makes Elena laugh harder.

“It’s ok,” She says, “I won’t _bite._ ”

“Elena,” He asks - timidly, she thinks, concerned - “Are you by any chance drunk?”

“Shut up,” She tells him, “Let’s dance.”

And she launches herself into him; knows, now, that he will accept her. His wide arms swallow her up as if it is instinctual, and the heat of him curls around her. His fingers run the length of her spine, and his chin slots over her crown. She thinks that they must make an _image._

“Okay,” He tells her, “Alright,” He tells her, “Let’s dance.”

“No,” Elena says, feeling the world stop around them, “No, I - wait.”

Elijah’s hands still on her and she pushes out from under him.

“Elena?” He asks her, “Are you -”

“It’s nothing to do with me,” She says, “I just - I need you to know that I’m sorry.”

Elijah gasps; an honest to goodness _gasp,_ and it gives her the sense that nobody else alive’s heard it. She stores that somewhere in the back of her head to pull out later, when he’s gone and she’s back in the Boarding House, crying herself to sleep like she has every night since Stefan decided to leave. She knows that it’s going to hurt her. Needs it to be said anyways.

“ _Elena,_ ” He says, and his voice is a cool, calming river, “Whatever are you sorry for?”

“Killing you,” Says Elena, “Stabbing you in the back. You deserved better than that.”

“It’s in the past,” He says, “Forgiven. You saved all of our lives tonight - that’s more than enough of an apology.”

“No,” She tells him, “It isn’t. If you were human -”

“What?” Asks Elijah.

“Then you would be dead,” Says Elena, “And your blood would be on my hands.”

She hasn’t said it out loud before, but it’s stalked through her journal, her nightmares; taunting her, mercilessly, with the picture of his graying corpse. Elena had known in that moment what it felt like for her heart to stop, even if she hadn’t known why. She thinks, as the adrenaline fades and she starts to sob, that she’s beginning to understand. Elijah says nothing, but his presence, his nearness, steadfastly refuses to waver. He is so patient, Elena thinks, and she is so selfish, so cruel. Isn’t that what everyone says?

“I am not human,” He tells her, after a long, laden quiet. “Neither,” He adds, “Are you. You did what you thought you had to. It’s why I admire you.”

“Yeah,” Says Elena, “I bet.”

“Please,” He says, “I insist. There are a great deal many things that are admirable about you.”

“Like what?” Asks Elena, “My willingness to commit murder?”

“Let me think,” Says Elijah, stroking his chin in that particularly scholarly manner. “To start with,” He says, “You are the kindest, most selfless woman I’ve ever met in my life. You care deeply for those that you love, and would do anything to protect them. You are not afraid of dying yourself to keep others safe and whole, even if they have wronged you. You are brave,” Elijah says, “Fierce. You know how to hold your own. And you have a beauty, Elena. I thought you’d have noticed by now.”

“Noticed what?” Asks Elena. Her voice is failing; he is looking so tenderly at her, and in this instant Elena doubts that she’s ever loved anyone else - because that is, she knows, what she feels.

She _loves_ him, she knows, and she _can’t._

“You can do whatever you’d like,” Says Elijah. “Far be it from me to deny you.”

And yet, thinks Elena -

“I can’t.”

“Whyever not?”

“Stefan,” Elena says, “Damon. What would they think about this?”

“It’s none of their business,” He tells her. Sounding, once more, she thinks, guarded. She thinks of him lonely, his brothers and sister in coffins, and feels a sorrowed pang bloom. Elijah needs someone, she thinks. Somebody who loves him truly, the way that she wishes she could, but she knows that it cannot be her. She is the doppelgänger, and all she that she will ever be is a curse.

“I’m none of those things,” Elena tells him, “Those things that you mentioned, Elijah - they aren’t a part of my soul.”

“Nonsense,” He tells her, “I don’t think you know your own strength.”

“What strength would that be?” She asks him - knowing how desperate she sounds, and how wounded. He is making her too vulnerable, she thinks. She _needs_ to go back inside.

“The strength,” Says Elijah, “To make deals with me. To give me your word, and to keep it.”

“I -“

“You kept it,” He tells her, “Tonight. Now - you have two choices, Elena. You can make me lose all of that admiration by running back to the Salvatores, or,” He says, “You can stay with me, and we can dance.”

“I don’t know how to dance,” Says Elena. He clicks his tongue in a chide.

“You were the runner-up, I believe? In the Miss Mystic Falls competition?”

“I don’t know how to dance with _you,_ ” Says Elena. A grin spreads over his face, and she feels her own rising up.

“Well then,” He tells her, “I suppose I’ll just have to teach you. Give me your arm, sweet Elena?”

It is there - in that question, that answer - that she thinks she’d be happy to die. If it was Elijah who did it. If he fed her his blood first; bit his wrist open and let his blood flow, coppery and thick, into her mouth, then she’d let him make them the same. Stefan and Damon are probably looking for her - have probably recovered from whatever it is that he’s done - but she doesn’t care about that. There is only her and Elijah. The crisp, perfect white of his collar. The dark, tender gait of his gaze. Elena isn’t a liar. She does not know how to do it, dance with somebody like him.

But _God,_ does she want to learn.

And it is so fast for Elijah - so simple, she thinks, to deposit herself in his grasp as he poses himself at her elbow, nudges her up so her feet are on top of his feet. This close to him, Elena can hear his loud heartbeat. It’s _that_ much off, she thinks, from what a human’s should be, but it’s beating away all the same, and she thinks that it’s the most beautiful sound in the world. A tear escapes her unasked for - he reaches upwards and swipes at it with the calloused pad of a thumb, waiting for her to explain.

“It isn’t you,” Says Elena, “It’s only that - I haven’t done this,” She says, “Since my dad died.”

“You never told me about it,” Elijah says, as he moves. Elena goes taut; her eyes and her ears are filled with the blue thrum of water, but he pulls her back to herself. “You don’t have to tell me,” He tells her, “But I am so very sorry for your loss.” The honesty of it shoots its way through her nerves, and any reticence that she had abandons her in the wake of it. Elijah knows the story already, but Elena thinks that she’s never wanted to tell it to anyone more.

“It was icy,” She tells him, “My parents - they drove off Wickery Bridge. Stefan found us, there, in the water. He could only save one of us, and - they made sure it was me. I was _fifteen,_ Elijah. And I thought - _God,_ I was so young then, I thought that I’d live forever.”

“Shh,” He says, brushing the skin of her cheek, smoothing his palm down her face, “You still can,” He says, “If you’d like.”

“I think,” She tells him, exhaling a harsh-sounding sigh, “That it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Perhaps not,” Says Elijah, “But my offer still stands. If you ever find yourself wanting eternity, all that you need do is ask.”

“And if I don’t?” Asks Elena. He is taking them in a box step. She wishes that he would let go and spin her. Tug her into the planes of his chest and skim his hands down her thighs. Get his fingers all up in her tresses. Kiss her, she yearns, and _pull._

“Then you should leave them,” Elijah says, nodding behind his shoulder. “They’re never going to stop, you know. And you don’t want it, Elena. The way that they love you - no one should love you like that.”

“Like what?” Asks Elena.

“Like you are something to win,” He tells her, “Instead of something to treasure.”

“That’s not how it is,” Says Elena.

“Isn’t it?” Asks Elijah. “They fight over you. They do not respect your decisions. They are tripping over their feet to one-up each other. What do you think will happen,” He asks her, “When one of them finally gets you?”

“Nothing,” She tells him. Sees the world form as she says it, like it was hers all along, “Neither of them will, Elijah. I belong to myself.”

“Good,” He tells her, “Than answer me as yourself, for a chance. Why do you care about them?”

Elena sighs. It trickles into the dark warmth between them, perfuming the hot, humid night.

“Stefan,” She says, “Stefan saved me. Not just from dying, but from wanting to be dead. As for Damon? He treats me differently than he treats anyone else. He’s not the worst man in the universe, once you’ve gotten to know him.”

“But neither of them respect you,” He tells her, “Surely that hasn’t escaped you?”

“It doesn’t matter, Elijah. I was born here. I live here. And I look just like Katherine.”

“You _aren’t_ Katherine,” He tells her. “You are _nothing_ like Katarina; have I made myself clear?”

He hasn’t stopped swaying them, but Elena knows that they have been missing too long. They won’t be alone for much longer.

“I have to choose,” Says Elena, “And any choice I make will kill me. What does it _matter,_ Elijah, if I’m respected or not?”

“It means everything,” Says Elijah, “It is everything you have left.”

“Apparently not,” She tells him.

“ _Elena,_ ” He says, exasperated, “Haven’t you been listening?”

“Elijah -”

“You have mine,” He says, “My respect. You have _always_ had my respect. How could you not understand that? You do not _need_ the Salvatores.”

She rends herself from him. Meets his hard, intense glare.

“Isn’t that my choice?” She asks him, “Or are you like them after all?”

“ _Elena,_ ” He growls, “Whatever you’re trying to tell me, I would suggest that you _don’t._ ”

“I can say what I want,” Says Elena, feeling the blaze of her anger in her, a virile torrent of it. Enough to match his, she thinks, if that is what it comes down to. “I can do anything that I want to. I could live for myself, if I wanted. Oh - don’t give me that. Who do you _think_ I’m doing it for? I’m no one, Elijah. I’m a Petrova. I’m _cursed._ And you think that I live for myself.”

“I think that you should,” Says Elijah, “Before it’s too late for you.”

“Save it,” She tells him, “It’s always been too late for me.”

“Just like it was for me?” He asks, “Even though I’d not drunk the champagne?”

It is then that he does it. Cuts her off from his body, the feeling of him around her. Elena feels as if half of her sure soul has died. And Elijah - Elijah, he only looks sad. Devoid of his safety, his comfort, the things that Elena’s said stab her, twisting into her gut.

“You know where to find me,” He tells her, “When you change your mind about them.”

But if he is going to leave her - if she is going to choose this - Elena thinks she needs to _know._

“What do you want, Elijah?”

She does not know who moves first. One second they are distanced, the next he’s devouring her. He tastes like the champagne that he didn’t drink, and the slide of his tongue is a bane. He’s a thousand years old and he knows it. He holds her as if she belongs to him - as if he knows, just as deeply as she does, that the pain of the life she’s been thrown into has tempered her so she can’t break. _But I can break,_ she thinks, _I can._ The threat of it makes her want to howl. But the promise of it - the _promise_ of it - makes her kiss him back fiercely, and fleetingly wonder just who has been saving who. It’s Elijah, she thinks to herself, who’s kept her safe these past months. Elijah who’s kept her alive. She wonders what he did it for. He could care about her, thinks Elena, or he could want to possess her; to make her arch underneath him and scratch long trails down his back in the slick of a heady, lamp-lighted bedroom. He could want nothing from her except for one night with her body, and Elena thinks she wouldn’t mind. She lives for the way that his teeth nip and scrape, the bruises he’s chosen to leave. She lives for the way that they fight in the firefly darkness. For they are at war with each other, and Elena knows she can’t win. _What did you think would happen?,_ her mind yells, _Going up against Elijah?_ Elena does not rightly know, but she will not surrender to him. If they are equals, then they will be equals. Even in hatred, Elena thinks to herself. Even, she thinks, in love.

“ _Elijah,_ ” She groans, keening into his parted lips, the sharp, razor tips of his fangs. His bruising grip on her lessens, and then she is just what she’s wanted to be; the girl that he loves in his arms. Elijah’s breathing is heavy. Heavier, she thinks, then hers. He looks as if he is ashamed.

“I -” He says, “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” Says Elena, in one shaking, trembling breath. “No,” She tells him, “I’m fine.”

 _More than fine,_ thinks Elena. _I want to stay here with you. Elijah, I just want to_ stay.

She will not say it to him, and she thinks that that’s why he loves her - because he knows, just as well as she does, the price that she’s willing to pay, if it means that he will be safe. Love has hurt Elijah before. She will not let it again.

She will hold onto the taste of him, though; the way that he loves her, so precious and inevitable. And someday, when Stefan and Damon decide that she is too fragile, she’ll give her eternity to him. Follow him there, to the edge of the Earth, to each of its four corners. She will be there with him, holding his hand. They will wade in the oceans and skip through the sidewalks of cities in Europe. In the evenings, Elena will sit on his lap. He will read novels to her, in his lilting mahogany tones, with a fire ablaze in the hearth. They’ll share lingering kisses and long, grazing touches; when it is dark out, he’ll press her down into the mattress and stretch her warm wetness around him. She will give everything and more to him, and she’ll never need anyone else. But this night is not their eternity. There’s an arm at her, spinning him out of her eyesight. She vaguely registers Damon raging at her.

“ _.. thinking,_ Elena? You went to meet Esther, _alone?!_ You told him about her plan?!”

“Ahem,” Says Elijah - and, in the stillness, the power that he holds brings Damon to a grinding halt. “I do not recall inviting you here tonight. Leave, kindly, if you will.”

“Whatever,” Says Damon, “We’ll talk about this later. I’ll see you back _home,_ Elena.”

“Yeah,” She calls out, “Back… _home._ ”

She waits until he is far out of earshot before she opens her mouth, but Elijah slips his fingers up against her lips to make sure that she keeps silent. He does not look mad at her, she thinks, but that disappointment is back, the one that says that he yearns for her not to need them - _aches_ for her to go with him; anywhere, _everywhere,_ that she’s willing to let him take her. He bends his lips to hers one last time. This time, she thinks, he is pleading to her with his body, and she is the one to step back.

“I know where to find you,” She tells him.

And then, like the spring, he is gone.


End file.
